


Sound of a Memory

by Clockworkcreation



Category: Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, F/M, Music, Musicians, Nightclub, Plot Twists, Soul Bond, World War II, unexpected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 08:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17301458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockworkcreation/pseuds/Clockworkcreation
Summary: One shot, war time Spine, surprise ending.





	Sound of a Memory

**Author's Note:**

> This came about because I am currently transposing 'Me and My Baby' into a lounge style1940s type night club song. And while doing that, this little one shot idea popped up.

The band was cueing up my entrance before I even realized it. My nose was almost touching the black velvet curtain behind the stage, as I stood waiting to slip into the light of the stage. While the curtain front was haphazardly brushed in the day, the back was left to rot in dust. I glance over my shoulder into the cool blues and greys of the darkened area. Everything back here was left to rot.

Even me…at least it felt that way sometimes.

As far as I knew we were the last night club open in all of London. This war, this damn unending war. The Americans are here now. They were supposed to help us… 

It just feels too little too late. Soldiers are who I sing to mostly now. Most civilians have fled to the country…at least those who could have.

So many dead…so much destruction. 

… I wonder if he will be here tonight.

I didn’t have any more time to think as the curtains started to lift, bathing me in golden light. “Is there such a thing……as too much of a good thing?... I ask myself that…everyday……” I sang breathy, slow and with a hint of sensuality.

The band was slightly off again, no matter how many times I asked them to check there instruments there was always this strange static like sound. As if a short wave radio had been left on someplace. Just loud enough to be annoying but not hinder my singing in anyway. 

After all…people paid to be entertained. 

There he was…at his usual table in the corner by the bar… alone, always alone…even in the smoke filled and dark lounge she could see his green eyes. They almost glowed like the eyes of a cat and he watched my every move with the look of a hungry hunter.

This was his song. He had written it. He and offhandedly mentioned brothers…but he had given it to her. He wanted to hear her sing it. She remembered him in the alley behind the bar. Half hidden in shadows, hat pulled down low over his eyes. He was so tall and made his request with such gentleness, such respect for her and her art. To this day she didn’t know why she had said yes, why she had taken the hastily written words and melody on scraps of paper from his offering hands. “That is until the weekend comes…and the sun has gone away to sleep. Then there’s only…one thing…on my mind…”

Was he smiling or was he smirking at me? I couldn’t tell in the dark.

“Me and my baby love…..Saturday nights…Saturday…nights….” I kept singing; aware I should be looking at others in the crowd, at anywhere other than those shining green eyes but I couldn’t stop. I just couldn’t. It was as if those eyes were trapping me.

The more I sang this song. The stranger I seemed to feel but it wasn’t a bad feeling. It was like first waking up in the morning, those few moments where you don’t know if you are dreaming or awake. Yet it seemed to stretch on and on. I finished the song and bowed, he was already standing to go. He never stayed for any other song.

I wanted to scream, to chase after him. There was so much I wanted to ask…so much I want to know.

Yet I stood…frozen on the stage.

Static filled my ears, louder than before. I closed my eyes, only to blink them open a moment later backstage.

The band was cueing up my entrance before I even realized it. My nose was almost touching the black velvet curtain behind the stage, as I stood waiting to slip into the light of the stage. While the curtain front was haphazardly brushed in the day, the back was left to rot in dust. I glance over my shoulder into the cool blues and greys of the darkened area. Everything back here was left to rot.

Even me…

*********************  
With a touch of a button, the cassette tape rewound in the Walkman, controlled by human-like fingers made of metal. The silver and black automation rested his head back against the velvet settee of the disused room, allowing his favorite song to begin playing once more. 

He loved this version of his song. Sung so long ago in a filthy nightclub by a woman whose name he had never known. He had copied it directly from his data banks before his last upgrade. They were sending him to war again soon.

He hadn’t wanted to lose it. 

For she was already long gone…


End file.
